


Alpha Particle

by Shakana



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Panic Attack, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakana/pseuds/Shakana
Summary: He knows Deacon is there, somewhere, hovering at the edges and watching with hungry eyes. Finn knows how long he’s waited, too. Together they’ve spent the last few months dismantling the Institute piece by piece. Lying and sabotaging, eating away at it from the inside. Like rot.The case flips open too easily. Too easily for something that is about to kill hundreds. Kill his baby. It gives under his fingertip immediately





	Alpha Particle

“Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes it own punishment in silence.”

-Dorothy Dix

Maybe it's the altitude that makes his mind hazy and fingers numb. He never did like heights. It was easy to make a joke out of it - some quick quip to excuse the sudden paleness etched into his face: Finn, the great Sole Survivor, getting queasy over something stupid. Some of them laughed at it, everyone smiled. 

Mass Fusion rattled beneath them, the sound an ugly wail urged on and warped by the wind. The sickly green glow of a radstorm could be seen to the east, not close enough to block out the baby blue skyline, but enough to prompt a quick ceremony. 

Events start to flash before his eyes. Excited chatter filters in through the back of his mind. Some agents were already beginning to celebrate-

Desdemona’s hand on his shoulder, a soft, gentle push towards the detonator. “The honor is all yours.” There’s pride in her voice. Giving him what she’s spent a lifetime working towards. 

He knows Deacon is there, somewhere, hovering at the edges and watching with hungry eyes. Finn knows how long he’s waited, too. Together they’ve spent the last few months dismantling the Institute piece by piece. Lying and sabotaging, eating away at it from the inside. Like rot.

The case flips open too easily. Too easily for something that is about to kill hundreds. Kill his baby. It gives under his fingertip immediately. 

***

They get an escort from one of the railroad tourists who spent his day life working as a caravan guard. The walk from Mass Fusion to Sanctuary takes a couple of hours and by the time they arrive the sun is gone and settlers gather at the front gates like moths to flame. 

They all saw the blast. They needed to know. 

He delivers the news and watches people burst into relieved tears, cheering and hugging and looking younger than they have in years. Decades of paranoia shrugged off like an old coat.

Deacon disappeared into the crowd almost immediately. One moment their hands bumped against one another and in the next only a gaping absence. Finn thought he saw a bald head on the edge of the group but couldn't bring himself to chase after. It was almost guaranteed they’d see each other later, anyway. 

Preston pushes through the crowd. When he reaches Finn his arms raise for hug but stop halfway through the motion, the overjoyed expression on his face slowly settling into something else the longer he looks. They stare at one another, two still forms in a sea of movement, and Finn tries to keep his plastered smile from twitching. It's an almost hysterical mask that threatens to turn his overeager laughs into choking silence.

Preston knows, and that makes it so much harder. He knows whose body- whose  _ ashes _ -lay in the bottom of the crater. He pulls Finn in slowly and holds him in a almost too-tight embrace. The pressure is anchoring but the moment feels too intimate for open air. They separate before Finn loses his composure. 

“General.” Preston tips his hat. There's a softness in his eyes that hurts to look at. “I'll handle it from here.”

“Thank you,” Finn breathes out. The constant sway of settlers makes his stomach churn. 

There’s only one place he can go now. 

The house was fenced off long ago to stop curious settlers - the windows blocked, the salvage untouched. Since leaving 111 he'd only been inside twice. Once, tucked behind Codsworth while they looked for Shaun. The second, to board the windows and seal the tomb. 

Nora’s body wasn’t there, but it may as well have been. 

Most settlers were at the main gates celebrating. The few stragglers that passed him were too euphoric to care about the strange man standing in the dark. He stood in the driveway and breathed. The padlock on the gate glowed in the moonlight, almost twinkling. The key was in his pocket. 

The lock fell to the ground with a muted thud and the gate swung open under his hands before sliding shut once more. He bypassed the garage entryway and circled around to the decimated back yard. It was hard to see in the dark, but after heaving the half-rotted maple trunks away the area opened up. Still only a shadow of what it used to be, but clear. Just what he needed. 

The shovel was hidden in some bushes along the fence. A little rusted, but it would do. The earth was soft there and even his shaking hands couldn't stop the graves from being dug.

***

It wasn't surprising to wake up alone. He knew Deacon had his own business to address that night and didn't bother feeling upset about the absence. Sunlight streamed down through makeshift ceiling panels and stung his eyes. The other side of the bed was cold, the bed sheets long since tugged down between his legs. It'd been a long night. 

Getting out of bed proved another challenge altogether. To get what little sleep he'd managed came at a cost; an empty vial of Med-X nearly stabbed his foot when he swung his feet to the floor. To avoid it he slammed into the nightstand on shaky legs, already wheezing at the sudden movement. 

Downstairs, the quiet clattering he heard before had stopped.

“Sir? Are you alright up there?”

He rubbed his face. “I'm fine, Codsworth.” 

The Pipboy read 11:57am. He hadn't slept in that late for months. Years, probably - and never while the war was on. The extra hours only made him feel greasier than before. He didn’t want to think about how long it’d been since he showered. 

Sanctuary felt like a kicked hornets nest. People scurried up and down the main road with bright faces, jobs abandoned for the day. Their arms were loaded with chairs, picked vegetables and purified waters. Some lugged pieces of scrap - tiny wires, jars of wax, light bulbs - all ready to be put to use. 

There was going to a party as soon as the sun went down. 

There would be fireworks. 

He had the honor of launching the first one. 

The settler who told him was a bubbly ghoul he'd saved from mutants a few weeks prior, her arm still slung in a cast against her chest. He gave her a thin smiled before leaving the mess hall. 

Nick was hovering just outside the building, a half finished cigarette between his fingers. For a moment Finn wondered if he could sneak back the way he'd come undetected, but then guilt set in with a vengeance. What happened wasn't Nick’s fault. No one's but his own. 

He looked up to find the synth staring back. 

Nick pinched out the half finished cigarette with . “You got a minute?” 

Finn shrugged. “Of course. Walk with me?”

“I couldn't help but noticed you slipped out pretty quick last night. Piper had half a mind to drag you back before we talked her out of it.” They kept a strolling pace, making their way down the main road and towards Sanctuary’s northern corners. When they passed the fenced off house there was a moment of silence. Nick tucked the rest of his cigarettes away. “What happened… It's a lot to process. Just wanted to make sure you were holding together alright.”

“What happened was a victory for the Commonwealth,” Finn glanced over at him. The party line slipped out easily. It had been his mantra for months.“There wasn't another option.”

Nick held his gaze. He blinked like any other synth but the movement lagged a second, as if he were only remembering to do it offhandedly. “You're right, there wasn't. Not one where people didn't get the short end of the stick and a monster under the bed.”

They turned down the hill towards the corn field growing by the riverside. Finn kicked a rock and watched it tumble through the crab grass. “There'll always be monsters, Nick. If you don't see ‘em you aren't looking hard enough.”

“Look too hard and you'll forget what normal is.”

An ugly laugh bubbled up, uncalled for. “None of this is normal to me, Nick.”

Nick grunted in acknowledgement. They came to the bank and looked down at the water trickling through rocks and muck. “Sometimes I forget this place isn’t really home to you. It’s the same dirt ‘n concrete, sure, but that’s that’s about it.”

He was right. Finn tried, when he first came out of the vault. Really, genuinely, tried to look at the Commonwealth and see home. But every time he passed a bookstore he used to love or a theatre he and Nora adored the thought turned to ash in his mind. It was the people who drew him into this wasteland -  the ones he’d met along the way were like candles in the dark, slowing coming together to light up the room. People like Nick and Hancock, Piper and Deacon - and all the others he’d picked up along the way. 

Without them there would be nothing here for him. No connection to the poisoned land that seemed to swallow everything he loved. Even with them here he felt wrong. He shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be seeing the consequences of his generation or how the new world lived despite it. He should have died in the vault with the rest of them.

Finn raised a hand to rest on Nick’s shoulder. He squeezed the soft jacket and felt firm plastic underneath. “I’m trying. Having friends helps.”

“Good to know, cause we don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. I know everyone is… excited, right now. But don’t push yourself to meet them there. The Commonwealth will survive just fine if you wanna take a few days off,” Nick murmured. He turned towards Finn a little in that calm way of his, not pushing any agenda, just wanting to comfort. 

“Give me a few days of stewing and next thing you know I’ll be throw myself in the nearest grave,” Finn joked, mirthless. “But I hear you. I’m still comin’ tonight, though.”

“Maybe seeing MacCready dance will cheer you up.” Nick elbowed him gently and Finn laughed. The last time Sanctuary had a party was when they’d reclaimed the Castle. He and Preston had been hanging off of each other, drunk as skunks, shouting out details of the fight while Piper tried giving another group dancing lessons with ranged results. It was the first time he’d really thought of them as family. 

Finn tried for a smile. “I'm sure it will.”

***

The mess hall was an amalgam of lights and sound. People huddled together in every area, on top of tables, sitting in the grass, dancing by the bar - all ringing with a constant stream of whoops and chatter that rivaled any radio present. 

They'd launched the fireworks almost immediately. Thankfully, no one was in the mood for long speeches so he only had to squeeze out a few words before setting off. 

Two hours in and it showed no sign of dying or calming down in the slightest. He sat in the far corner with a warm beer, sunk low in a plush armchair he’d built weeks ago, and people-watched. Occasionally, someone would come up to shake his hand or offer a better, cooler drink. He turned them down with smiles and excuses and waited patiently until eyes were off him once more.

Deacon slipped in soon after. He was wearing something simple: jeans and an almost clean t-shirt. Sunglasses. No wig or fake mustache today. Finn almost wished he had just to see if anyone would actually fall for it this time. They locked onto each other almost immediately - Finn could see the tiny way his head tilted while he sifted through the crowd. When he found Finn the vault dweller lifted his beer in welcome, the first genuine smile of the night on his lips. Deacon grinned and blew him a kiss before getting pulled into an argument by Mac and Hancock. 

He took a swig of beer and cringed at the taste. Flat, now, in addition to warm. It felt syrupy in his mouth and he briefly debated spitting it in a nearby planter before bucking up and swallowing. A kid walked up just as he set the bottle between his feet. 

Maybe a dash younger than Mac, still a long limbed wisp of a man but bright eyed nonetheless. Finn gave a small wave. “Hey there. Enjoying the party?”

The kid beamed at him. “Hell yeah! Just wanted to come by and, uh, say thanks. Y’know, for what you did.” 

“Yeah, of course. Don’t mention it.” Finn scratched his beard and readjusted in the chair, his legs uncrossed now. 

Unphased by clipped answers, the kid continued rattling off with waving arms. “My friends and I haven’t stopped talking about it! If you don't mind me askin’, what was the boss like? Did’ya fight him face to face? My pal James said you took ‘im on top of Mass Fusion and threw the body off!”

Finn's head jerked up. “Your friend’s a liar.”

The kid scoffed. “Ugh, I knew it. Told him he was fulla shit. Knew you wouldn't mess around like that. So what, then? You just shoot him?”

“Yes.” 

No one deserved to die burning. Not even if you were already half-rotted. Bringing Kellogg’s pistol had been a last minute decision he couldn't explain away when they packed for the invasion. It'd just felt right in his holster, and when he reached Shaun it all made sense. Son like mother, going out the same way. It was almost poetic.

They talked. He sent out the evacuation notice and watched his son's eyes close against incoming tears. 

“ _ Do it. You've already doomed my life's work. The least you can do is give me the dignity of dying before it. _ ”

The caliber was bigger than he remembered. It wasn't a clean wound but at least it was quick. 

“Sweet! I bet it was epic. Like one of those fights you hear Silver Shroud do on the radio!” 

A wave of nausea made his stomach twist in on itself viciously. The plush comfort of the chair morphed into something suffocating and he lurched out of it shakily. The kid stepped back with eyes like saucers. “H-hey, you okay?”

He shoved by and darted towards the front doors. “Too many beers.”

The cool air felt nice on his overheated skin. He wiped away the sweat gathered along his hairline and ducked around to the side of the building, hands twitching with pent up energy. He cracked his knuckles one by one and leaned against the wall. “Shit.”

He was losing it. This time could be excused - no one was looking too closely - but it was a fine line. 

Keep it together. 

The warm beer sat ominously in his gut, threatening to surface at a moment's notice. It was the only thing he'd downed since waking up and his body felt it in every capacity. The smells wafting out from the mess hall were equal parts delicious and overbearing. Maybe in the privacy of his own home he could stomach it, but not now with a mass of chittering people surrounding him. 

“Already ditching? And here I thought this was a Popsicle approved party.” 

Finn looked up. Deacon slid along the wall like a spider, hands in his pockets and visors catching moonlight. Finn pocketed his own itchy fingers and smiled. “Felt like a can of sardines in there. We'll have to add on soon if more people join up.”

“You're practically a rock star now. I wouldn't be surprised if recruits started popping up like molerats. Minus the dirt. Or, uh, maybe not.” Deacon stopped before they could bump shoulders. He smelled clean and Finn wanted to lean into it. 

“They'll have to wait a bit. Does it make me an old man if all I want is to go home and sleep?” 

“Absolutely. But hey, nothing wrong with acting your age.” Deacon quipped. The corners of his mouth turned up just a notch, his laugh lines crinkling. Finn laughed and kicked some dirt his way. 

“Better tell Preston I'm retiring early then. Gotta get a head start on gardening before arthritis does me in.”

Deacon laughed. “Can you still call it a green thumb if nothing's green anymore?”

“Maybe not, but I don't feel like making something up.” Finn shrugged. The movement made his stomach reel and Deacon hummed.

“Really not feeling this gig, huh?”

“No. Uh, not really.” He sighed then shook his head. “But hey, this is a big victory for you. Don't let me rain on the party, get back in there.” 

Deacon closed the distance between them, running knuckles down his forearm slowly. “What kind of party would it be without my favorite popsicle? Let's ditch. Your place smells better anyways.” 

He knew it was selfish. Self serving. But god if he didn't ache for something quiet and dark. He slipped down and squeezed Deacons hand for a moment. “Ok.”

The walk through Sanctuary was calm. For once it seemed like there weren't any radstorms in the distance or raider shootouts in the hills. Deacon walked beside him making small talk to fill the silence, completely at ease with being the center of attention. Finn smiled to himself and listened to the wise cracks aimed towards their friends and other Railroad members. 

His new house was down the road in the roundabout where they'd cleared rubble. He was proud of it - the first house he'd ever scrambled together from scratch. Candles glowed in the window sills and the faint hum of the radio drifted down the street. No one would be home, not when the party was still going in full force. The front door swung open with little resistance and Dogmeat looked up from his bed across the room. 

Finn smiled at him, walking over and petting gently between his ears. “Hey there boy, keeping watch?”

“If he's letting me in how good could he be?” Deacon scoffed. 

“What are you gonna do? Disguise me to death?” 

“I could, but then who would comb my wigs for me?”

Dogmeat chuffed and let his head rest back on the pile of cushions. Finn rose and shrugged his jacket off and onto one of the chairs. “Want a drink?”

Deacon shook his head. “Think I'll pass for now. 

Finn stared at his liquor shelves for a moment. If he were alone it would be the perfect time to drink half of the stash and pass out in a corner somewhere, but with Deacon present he knew he had to keep himself in one piece. So instead he bypassed it and plucked a half finished water bottle off the kitchen counter. He turned around to lean against it, now facing back towards Deacon. The little eel himself was busy looking around the house as if he’d never been there before. 

“I’ll tell you right now, I haven’t changed anything,”

Deacon scoffed. “That’s what they all say. How will I really  _ know  _ though until I check?” He stretched up on his toes to peer into a corner. Finn whistled low. 

“You have fun with that, but I’ll be doing my own checking out, thank you very much.”

Deacon looked over his shoulder with a grin and rolled his hips in an exaggerated way. “Oh no, should I start dropping things with frightening seduction? It is my best talent, after all.”

He considered for a moment whether he was actually in the mood to follow through with this or not. On one hand his heart still clenched with an unnamed ache and his head thundered, but, on the other hand, sex was excellent at taking your mind off things. Distraction in its best form. 

He looked Deacon up and down. 

Mouth dry, he murmured out the words. “Maybe you should. Remember that thing we talked about?”

Deacon turned and looked over the brim of his glasses. “We talk about a lot of things. As much as I’d love being a mind reader, you might have to give me a clue.”

A small smile played across Finn's face. “Come with me. Upstairs.”

***

Finn shuffled up the bed and fumbled with the side table drawer. It rattled open as he reached inside hesitantly. Nestled behind some papers and lockpicks were carefully stored coils of rope. He grabbed a few and brought them into his lap while Deacon slid up his body and looked down at them with slowly spreading smile. 

“Oh, you meant  _ that  _ thing.” 

Finn snorted. “Want to live out your favorite boy scout fantasy?”

***

The ropes bit into his skin unkindly. They weren’t the soft and flexible brand he used to see back before the war, no, this was coarse and unforgiving. The slight ache distracted from the hollow feeling in his chest. Deacon was straddled across him and reaching for the bedpost, tying knots with delicate movements and nimble fingers. Finn stared at the sharp edge of his jaw as it clenched. A moment later his wrists were pulled taut and Deacon let out a satisfied huff. 

“How’s that? Not too tight?”

Finn tried tugging his wrists to test the hold. He had no slack to work with and the movement chafed against thin skin. “Perfect”

“Bit of a masochist, huh Boss?” Deacon slid back down and ran his palms across Finn’s chest. 

“Why else would I go out and get shot at five times a week?” He pushed up into the touch and turned red when Deacon squeezed the plush curve of his pecs. Deacon grinned at the reaction and leaned down to bite at his lip.

“I’ll remember that next time we’re running from mutants.”

Finn surged up as much as his restraints allowed, chasing Deacons lips and moaning when they met in a filthy kiss. Deacon’s hands slipped down to cup his hips and bring the two of them into a slow grind. They rocked together, Deacon stubbornly keeping the movement slow while Finn squirmed underneath him. Frustrated, Finn broke the kiss and gasped in air. 

“Is your master plan to ruin my pants or to fuck me?”

“Why not both?”

***

Deacon snapped forward with almost brutal force. For a moment it knocked all the air from his lungs and the following rush of endorphins was overwhelming. He’d been goading the man to speed up ever since they started, ‘ _ harder _ ’, ‘ _ faster _ ’,  _ ‘make me feel it _ ’. He craved the harsh bite of the rope against his skin and the feeling of splintering headboard at his nape. Finally,  _ finally _ , Deacon had given in with a token protest and sly grin. And it was perfect. The whispers in the back of his mind were graciously quiet in the wake of pleasure. 

He was enjoying himself, making a show of it, and thrashing against his bindings. Deacon soaked up the performance and gave it to him without restraint, high on their success-

Success. The thought punched a hole through him. 

And just like that - the hollow feeling returned. The sweat on his skin morphed into something clammy and uncomfortable, another stimulant that lashed against his senses and added to the barrage. He wrestled against the ropes and prayed for the sharp burn to bring him back but the movement only served to highlight the numbness seeping across his skin. 

His muscles ached from the tension and left a sour note in his rapidly closing throat. His breath was harsh and quick, punched out by Deacon's thrusts and mistaken for pleasure. He knew the word to stop it all. It was there on the tip of his tongue and flashing across his eyelids. Just one word and he could stop the dread carving a hole in his chest. But nothing escaped. 

He deserved this. 

Shame coiled deeply in the pit of his gut. There he was, strung up and having a good time while his child’s ashes blew across the wasteland. While his wife lay frozen in a pit. The memory of that fucking button made him pull against the ropes harder and wish the pressure would tear the whole damn hand off. 

Deacon mouthed against his neck and fisted his cock earnestly, plying the pleasure out of him with gentle force. Pure adrenaline kept him hard. The pressure building in him was heavy and each time he moaned it sent another shock of disgust and grief through him. He wanted Deacon to bite harder. To rip through his throat and leave him to rot when he was done.

The sound of the bed rocking and their combined groans faded out as a faint ringing took its place. 

He could feel Deacon stutter, his movements becoming sloppy and desperate. The hand on him sped up and twisted with a finesse only gained through familiarity. Finn choked on a whine as Deacon nailed that spot in him  _ just so _ , and then it was all over.

For a moment it was bright and overwhelming. Warmth pulsed through him as he bucked weakly through the aftershocks and felt Deacon stiffen through his own completion. Then it all came flooding back. His ramrod muscles crumpled and he went slack against the mattress, Deacon following shortly after and laying against him. Any other time and the weight would have felt nice, comforting, even, but now it was suffocating.

Deacon's breath was warm against his neck and Finn felt him smile. “Much better than a party.”

Finn let out a rough grunt, chest still heaving. He nodded and let his eyes slip shut to avoid whatever look might come his way. His heart still thundered against his ribs. 

“You okay, Boss?”

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't find the words to reassure or distract. So instead he nodded again and tried to find some semblance of normalcy. 

Deacon slipped out gently pushed off of him with a groan. The act made Finn hiss, already feeling uncomfortable and sore. “Alright, time to see if I can actually untie those knots.”

Finn cracked open his eyes a sliver and watched Deacon rise up to do so. He realized with mild interest he couldn't feel his fingers anymore when Deacon touched his right hand.

Deacon flinched away and stared down at him with a pinched expression. “You're ice cold. You should've told me they were too tight.”

“It's fine.” Finn's mouth struggled around the words. He cleared his throat. “Just cut them loose.”

Deacon stared at him a moment longer before slowly turning to grab a swiss knife from the bedside table. He made quick work of the restraints and watched Finn's hands drop after a few precise cuts. 

His wrists were mangled. Ugly shades of purple were already beginning to blotch under patches of rope burn and swelling was all but guaranteed. Finn brought one closer to his face and pressed against the marks roughly. Deacon intervened almost immediately, gently taking his hand and rubbing feeling back into it. 

“I know you said you were a masochist, but maybe warn a guy next time.” The words were flat with some underlying tone Finn couldn't identify. Maybe it'd be easier when the world wasn't tinny and warped around the edges. He made to sit up and took his hand back from Deacon with some struggle. 

“It’s fine.” 

Deacon frowned. “You don't look fine.”

Finn looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, silently begging for the subject to go away. He held his still cold hands together and prayed the shakiness didn't show. “I'm just tired. It's been a long day. I had a good time, Dee.”

“Then why won't you let me take care of you?” Deacon slid closer. He wasn't fooled. That fact just made Finn feel worse. He glanced around the room almost frantically, looking for any excuse to leave. Deacon tracked the movement with a dark expression. “I get that you like getting roughed up but you gotta let me put a band-aid on after.”

Finn locked eyes with him for a split second before looking away. “I asked for it.”

“You're allowed to change your mind if it isn't what you pictured.” Deacon tried, bowing his head to try and see Finn's expression. “Did you want to?”

You can't change your mind after you've pressed the button. The sentiment rang through this head. Too late too late too late-

“Finn.”

The sharp tone caught his attention. He finally looked up. It felt like everything was breaking down around him and the one person who could help him through it was sitting right there, betrayal etched across his brow. 

“Did you want to stop?” Each word was punctuated. 

His mouth open and shut. Yes. No. Both? Deacon having a good time was all that mattered. The shaking in his hands returned like a plague. His hesitation was a better answer than any excuse.

“Why didn't you tell me?” There was hurt laced through the words. Deacon's face held too many emotions - concern, anger, frustration, insecurity. They were all warring across his features while Finn sat there like a statue. 

The words slipped out like an afterthought. “I deserved it.”

A new emotion swam through Deacons eyes. He took Finn's hands again, slowly, gently, and held them between his own. Finn could finally feel their warmth and shuddered when it seeped into his own aching skin. “Deserved what? Boss, please, talk to me.”

Finn felt the heady rush of guilt. Shaun's face. Nora's face. The urge to tear himself apart all over again. It burst like a bubble and poured out in one ugly word. “Everything.”

Deacon's hands tightened around his own, the other man caught off guard. He stared at the bruises and blood and finally back at Finn. “Is that what this is about? Punishing yourself?”

“I killed my own son, Deacon.” Finn hissed, despair twisting into half-hearted rage. “Getting a little bruised up will  _ never _ atone for that.”

“He wasn't your son anymore. You know that.” Deacon didn't rise to the bait. He knew it was too much to probe. Everything that had happened was too much.

It wouldn't be solved through one pep talk.

His words were calm, quiet. “I should've picked up how you were feeling. Reading people is what I do for a living, and I'm pretty great at it, but if I don't then you gotta tell me.”

Finn felt his eyes go glassy. He didn't have the energy to cry but the ache in his heart was there. “It’s not your fault, Dee. I just- God, I don’t-”

Deacon raised a hand to cup his cheek. “All you have to do is say the word and its over. You gotta trust me to stop and I have to be able to trust you to say it.”

Finn closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. His hands hurt like shit. He could admit that now. The dread was still there but exhaustion weighed it down like lead. “I'm sorry.”

“Come ‘ere.” Deacon pulled him in so their foreheads rested against each other. “It's okay. Breathe.” 

It wouldn’t be okay though, would it? He thought bitterly. There was no way to change what happened and no way to atone. No matter how much he’d changed, Shaun was still his son. The only flesh and blood he had left in the world, extinguished. No father should have to do that.

Finn shuddered against Deacon as the two sat in silence, Deacon’s hands rubbing soothing circles into his back. The slow motions gave him a sense of peace despite everything. In a sea of anger and regret there was one thing anchoring him to the present. One person to put the band-aid on. 

And maybe that would be enough. 


End file.
